Allegretto
by Pegasus M
Summary: When Kloppman sees too much of his young self in a resentful Skittery on Christmas Eve, he feels it is finally time to share the story of a chance encounter, one that occurred nearly half a century before.
1. Giving

_Title: Allegretto  
Rating: T for potential strong language  
Summary: When Kloppman sees too much of his young self in a resentful Skittery on Christmas Eve, he feels it is finally time to share the story of a chance encounter, one that occurred nearly half a century before._

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_Giving_

"God, I hate all this snow."

Pegasus was surprised. "Really?" She shrugged. "I love it." Peg grinned, opening her arms wide and throwing her head back for a moment to feel the soft cold crystals. She pushed back damp strands of her black hair and wiped the moisture from her face, a futile attempt considering that the snow was coming down quite heavily now and, carried by the wind, seemed to be falling horizontally.

It was only mid afternoon, but the streets today were covered in shades of gray due to the impending blizzard. Many factories and shops were closing early – being Christmas Eve, owners found the heart to release their workers a couple of hours before the regular clock out time. Skittery and Peg trudged through the piling snow in amicable silence, heading towards Tibby's to meet their friends before the Holiday banquet that night at the Duane Street Lodging House. Skittery pulled his cap lower, trying to keep the snow from his eyes. He hid his hands in his coat pocket and fiddled with the few coins that remained there amongst the lint. If it weren't for the free meal tonight, he would have been severely pushing his limit. Winter had been consistently his worst season and this year proved to be no different. He heaved a sigh despite himself.

Skittery looked over to Peg then, who was carrying at least three bags full of – well, he didn't know. He had asked her about its contents, of course, when she emerged from the front doors of the garment factory where she worked, looking about every which way in an almost frantic cautiousness. He had been waiting for her, like he did most every Sunday, right by the lamppost directly across the street. Skittery had been drawing a smoke when she hurriedly zigzagged through the throngs of people on the sidewalk, her pale green skirts fluttering with her rapid movements. The bags had been hanging at her elbows as she jumped over the accumulating hills of snow, crossing the street towards him. The cigarette had been hanging loosely between his lips when he was about to ask her what the hell she was doing with all those bags and why she was skipping like a lunatic – but she had forcefully pulled him by his arm without a word nor a glance, peeling him off from the lamppost he was leaning against.

He had nearly swallowed the damn cigarette.

They had walked at a brisk pace for nearly three blocks – he was having trouble keeping up with her – when she had finally breathed a sigh of relief, turned at her heels, and said cheerfully, "Hi, how are you?"

"_Are you mad_?" had been his bewildered response.

She had apologized, and that was when he asked her about the bags.

"Oh, it's just a couple of things I picked up… from here and there." She paused. "Mostly there."

In other words, she wasn't going to tell him. And she wasn't letting him get near them.

He looked at the paper bags now, and curiosity was getting the better of him. He was about to ask her about them again when she spoke.

"There's something about the snow, especially when it's coming down like this, that makes me feel a little… I don't know, a little melancholy. Do you know that feeling?" She put a hand on her chest, as though indicating that that was where she felt the emotion.

Skittery was confused and the bags were momentarily forgotten. "I thought you said you liked the snow."

"I do," she confirmed earnestly. "I feel that way, but it's… it's not a bad feeling. Maybe that's the wrong word. Wistful, maybe? I don't know how to describe it, really." She thought for a moment. "Snow is my first memory. You know when you're a kid and everything is right and magical and wonderful?" Peg bit her lip. She was sure she wasn't making any sense. "Nevermind, it's nothing," she said, laughing, feeling a bit foolish.

Skittery had been listening intently, but when he heard the nervous laugh he thought better than to pursue the subject. "Well, I think the snow is a pain," he said half-seriously. "It's freezing as hell, and when it's all done with, the streets are slippery, and your socks are never dry, and your feet are cold and wet from walking through all the dirty slush."

Peg laughed. "You're such a cynic."

"I'm not a cynic," he said pointedly. "I'm a realist."

They neared Tibby's. They could tell that, even from their distance, the small restaurant was booming with energy. The glow from within escaped through the windows, illuminating the darkened street. Sounds of laughter and boisterous conversation drifted towards them. When Skittery pushed the door open, they received the full extent of the excitement from within the humble establishment. Tibby's was filled to every square inch. The waiters shuffled awkwardly about, deftly holding their trays way above their heads in order to weave through the crowded interior. The volume of chatter was unprecedented, even for Tibby's. The place was bristling with movement – there were animated exchanges, waiters struggling to keep up with orders, and shivering bodies of those who had just escaped the cold outdoors. Everyone was in the spirit of the holidays. Even the gruff waiter who normally served the newsies seemed only mildly irritated that they were taking up precious seats without ordering anything.

Skittery and Peg had to squeeze through to reach the tables where many of the newsboys and girls had gathered. They simply stood at the head of the middle table against the windows as there were no more seats available to them. A wave of cheery greetings welcomed them. And, just as Skittery had first eyed Peg's new accessories, the boys and girls similarly reacted to the mystery bags.

Peg set the sacks on a cleared table. She had sidestepped Skittery's inquiries before, but she was not completely oblivious to the interested stares this time.

An impish half-smile formed on her face. "I guess there's no point in waiting." She pushed the bags to the center of the table. "Merry Christmas."

The group took that as their cue. The eager young boys clamored towards the table first, yelling, "Presents!" as they did so.

Skittery quirked an eyebrow. "Presents?" he asked, turning towards Peg who stood next to him.

She nodded as she tried to gather her bearings. She placed her hands on her ears hoping to warm them; unfortunately, it seemed her hands were even colder. The snow that had gathered on the front of her clothes was melting and seeping through to her skin. The cold sensation brought her body to a slight quiver. But then she saw the expressions of pure joy and curiosity of her companions, and something about the scene made her forget about the cold.

Skittery was skeptical about the bag's contents. "How'd you afford three bags worth of presents?"

"I didn't," she answered simply.

Skittery was afraid she was going to go through the rest of the day with her esoteric statements and was relieved when she elaborated.

"The Richardsons – that's the family I used to work for – were cleaning out their closets. All ten of them. Well, Annie was doing the cleaning – she still works for them. She's a sweet girl, the sweetest I know. She knew I didn't have a coat for winter so she told me she'd sneak some clothes out for me. I went to Queens a couple of weeks ago to pick them up, but I ended up… um, taking more than I had intended."

Skittery almost laughed at that and she saw it.

"They were perfectly fine garments!" she said, still in disbelief how anyone could throw out such garments.

The Richardsons, however, were amongst the wealthiest families in the city and, as Annie had informed Peg, they had just purchased a new wardrobe - again. The clothes they were discarding were "out of fashion," as Annie put it, even though she was wholly convinced that these clothes were the same ones that the family had purchased only several weeks before. When Peg and Annie sat rummaging through the clothes that day, Annie would lift an article and say, "I've never seen them even _wear_ this before." And for as long as Ellie had known her, Annie never forgot a thing.

She was quiet for a minute, but then continued talking. "It's not really stealing," she said, even though no one accused her of it. "They were going to throw them out like they were useless rags. And I just – I just put them to better use because they're obviously not rags, right?" she questioned no one in particular.

Peg was verbalizing her every thought again, Skittery knew. He was amused. She was clearly trying to convince herself, not anyone else, that she had done a good deed. She confirmed his suspicions when with a terse nod of her head, she answered her own question.

"Right," she said, sounding close to satisfied with her reasoning.

"So," Skittery began, tapping his temple with his forefinger, "why were you running out from work, then?"

"Oh. That." She grinned sheepishly. "It's not every day that someone comes out of the factory with a bunch of clothes. It _is_ a garment factory. I was afraid they would think I was stealing from them. And of course I wasn't. I was stealing from – no, not stealing… I was doing the Richardson family a _favor_ by taking the clothes out of their hands. That's it!" she said, snapping her fingers as though she finally convinced herself.

"You're so paranoid," Skittery said, smirking in her direction.

"You're beginning to sound a lot like Jack here," added Race, squeezing past them to reach the other tables in order to show off his "new" shirt. He patted Peg on her shoulder as he scooted past her: it was his way of saying thanks.

In fact, the words 'thank you' were barely spoken. It would seem to be the simplest words to say, but those simple words never seemed to be enough to express the heartfelt gratitude experienced during Christmas. Instead, the girls gave the sincerest of hugs, and the boys gave the hardest of smacks on the back, which Peg assumed were appreciative gestures.

Skittery watched as one of the youngest newsies, Clue, pull out his gift from the bag. All of the garments were carefully folded and tied with two intersecting strings; a slip of paper was placed in the center of the strings for each gift, which featured the receiver's name in a surprisingly elegant script.

"Okay then, where'd you get the string?" Skittery asked with a hint of a teasing tone.

"Those I got from the big pile of leftovers on the factory floor. You don't know how long it took for me to find the longest pieces through that mess."

"And the paper?"

"Ms. Landry gave me a couple of sheets from her notebook. She's in charge of the girl's home."

"I remember. And the paper bags?"

"Those are from – oh," she said, finally realizing his intent. "You're making fun of me."

Skittery gave her a short chuckle in response and turned his attention back to the table where the boys and girls were now donning their gifts. Tumbler himself had received a gray neckerchief lined with blocks of white.

"I couldn't find anything small enough that'd fit him," Peg whispered to Skittery as she watched the boy unfold the cloth.

But Tumbler didn't seem to mind the simple gift. "Now I can be just like Cowboy!" he exclaimed, as he tied the kerchief around his neck, trying to imitate Jack.

Skittery screwed his face in distaste. "What d'ya want to be like Cowboy for?"

"Hey, who _doesn't_ want to be like me?" Jack replied, sending a grin in Tumbler's direction.

"Yeah, who _doesn't _want to be like Cowboy?" echoed Les, sitting in the seat next to Jack.

Skittery caught David rolling his eyes at his little brother's outright adoration of the older newsboy.

And suddenly, more wrapped objects were appearing. Apparently, Peg wasn't the only one that came bearing gifts that afternoon. Mush slid a wrapped box in front of Blink who, in a state of surprise, took a minute to realize that the box was indeed for him. Bumlets handed a pair of small identical packages to Swifty and Pie Eater. David and Les presented Jack with a rather large parcel, triggering a wide smile to form on Jack's face. Jack, in a remarkable gesture, had prepared not one, not two, but three gifts, one for Davey, Les, and Crutchy. When Davey asked how Jack paid for all the presents, Jack went into an elaborate explanation of how he earned a lot of money in the last couple of months thanks to Les and casually added that he snatched some things - candies, most likely - from Toby back at Medda's. Hands hurried to open gifts and fragments of papers began to fly all over. The tables quickly filled with bright wrappings as well as newspapers, which some had used as a substitute to wrap their gifts. Race exclaimed, "Two in one night!" when Snipeshooter presented the older newsboy with a cylindrical object, covered haphazardly with an article from _The World_; it was undoubtedly a cigar.

"I swiped it off this old geezer a couple of days ago," Snipes said.

Race gave the kid a toothy grin. "Thanks, pal."

Clue joined Tumbler and together, they grabbed all the bags and crumpled wrappings, flipping through them to make sure no gift was unaccounted for.

"There ain't no more," Tumbler announced. "But… what'd you get, Skittery?"

"Huh?" Skittery uttered in reaction.

Peg started. "What?" She rummaged through the bags, but they were indeed empty. "Oh no… I must have forgotten. You must have slipped my mind when I was putting together my gift list…" she attempted to explain.

Skittery involuntarily stiffened, but quickly regained his composure, at least physically. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I didn't need anything anyway."

"Oh." She smiled. "Good, then."

"Yeah. Good."

He was suddenly preoccupied with a familiar emotion - though he couldn't quite put a finger on what it was - so much so that he missed the covert wink Peg gave Tumbler. Tumbler tried hard to contain his grin – he loved being in the know when it came to secrets, and he was, thankfully, good at keeping them.

"I'm going back to the Lodging House," said Skittery unexpectedly.

Peg turned her head sharply. "What? Now?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I'm tired."

"But –-"

"I'll see you guys later," he said to the group, cutting Peg off.

"Going already?" Mush asked from the table to their right. "You must really be excited about the dinner tonight."

With a half-hearted attempt at a smile, Skittery made to leave the restaurant. He had to shuffle his feet along, as he was compressed on all sides by people. When he finally reached the door, he pulled it open only to be struck by a strong gust of frigid wind and snow. The storm still hadn't passed. And Skittery at last recognized that all too familiar feeling that had overcome him moments before, when Tumbler revealed the empty paper bags.

Disappointment.

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_Author's Note: This idea of Christmas fluffery was inspired by Dewey's Holiday with the Newsies Contest. Even though I couldn't find the time to write this in time to submit it (finals…), I wanted to thank Dewey for motivating me to try writing a Holiday story. Congratulations to Stress and her winning fanfic, "O'Malley's on 12th"! It is a wonderful story so anyone wanting some heartwarming Holiday tales should head on over!  
_


	2. Listening

_Disclaimer: Newsies and all characters from the movie are properties of Disney._

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_  
Listening_

Skittery reached the Lodging House with great difficulty. The storm hadn't just _not_ passed, it had gotten stronger. The snow hit his exposed face like a million needles and when he tried to block the stinging icicles with his hand, his fingers became so numb that he was sure they would break off from his hand. By the time he stepped through the entrance to the Duane Street Newsboys Lodging House, he was covered all over in white snow. He dusted off the particles at the doorway and removed his brown cap to find that a mountain had formed on his head while he made the trek from Tibby's. Skittery placed the cap on a lone table by the window. He then proceeded to remove his tweed coat, but his numb hands reacted painfully to touch. He succeeded eventually, draping the coat on the back of a chair, and blew into his hands to bring the nerves back to life. He looked to the lobby desk behind which Kloppman, the Lodging House manager, sat.

Upon spotting the old man, Skittery stopped in mid-motion, curious. Kloppman himself was oddly frozen; his eyes were glazed, glimmering – he had the look of someone in a trance.

"Hey, Kloppman? Klopps? You alive?" Skittery asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Hmm?" Kloppman snapped back to the present, shaking his head weakly. "Of course I'm alive, you ruffian," he said in his hoarse voice. He removed his glasses and quickly wiped at his eyes. Then he turned his attention back to Skittery and beckoned him closer. When the newsboy obliged, he whispered, "Did you hear that?"

Skittery had no idea what the old man was suddenly referring to. "Hear what?"

"I guess you didn't hear anything then," Kloppman said, sounding a little disappointed.

The newsboy just shrugged, still slightly perplexed, but thought nothing of it. He looked around the Lodging House as he continued blowing into his hands, noticing the differences from when he had left the building just that morning. Another wreath on the east wall. A new poinsettia on Kloppman's desk. Christmas was indubitably Kloppman's favorite holiday. Every year, he took hours each day decorating the Lodging House. Every year, he encouraged the boys to partake in putting ornaments on the tree, which, every year, stood in the same corner of the lobby. And Every Christmas Day, he started the morning serving hot chocolate to the boys. Needless to say, Kloppman liked his traditions.

"You put up more decorations?"

"I did. Found some more old ornaments and things in the basement. Makes the place a little more festive and colorful, I think. Brings out the cheer."

Skittery raised his brows and looked away. "Why bother? You're only going to take them down again in a couple of days. Kind of useless, if you ask me."

Kloppman peered at Skittery over his spectacles. "Is that so?"

"Yeah."

"Say," began Kloppman, "why are you here so early, anyway? The dinner begins in a couple of hours, son."

"I just - I wasn't feeling well. Might be getting sick… or something," said Skittery, mumbling the last part, hoping the simple explanation would quell any further questions.

"I see." Kloppman pushed his spectacles over the bridge of his nose and lifted a finger as though he had a brilliant idea. "I know what you need. Wait right there, I'll be right back."

With that Kloppman shuffled to the backroom, which had a small kitchen, and disappeared from view.

Skittery knew what he needed: a change of clothes and a warm bed. His cold and damp trousers were chilling him to the bone. And despite what Kloppman said about the Christmas decorations, Skittery wasn't feeling the cheer. The radiant reds and glimmering greens were drowned out by the cold and the storm outside.

Tumbler's words came back to him then:_ "But… what'd you get, Skittery?"_ He couldn't understand why that had upset him. What had he been expecting? He ran a hand through his hair, scratching at his head to try to shake his mind clear. But it seemed like his mind couldn't make any sense of his heart.

Skittery didn't know how long he'd been standing there in the lobby trying to figure himself out, but Kloppman soon reemerged holding a tray with two steaming mugs.

"Coffee?" Skittery asked hopefully.

Kloppman sent him a disgruntled glance. "Boy, where's your sweet tooth?" He set the tray on the desk and handed Skittery a mug. "It's hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate? Isn't it a little early for you to be serving this? Christmas Day is tomorrow." Skittery welcomed the mug, though, relishing in the warmth that it offered.

"Well, you looked like you needed this sooner than later," Kloppman explained, bringing his own mug to his lips. He cleared his throat. "Now, what was it you were saying before? You think you might be getting sick, is that right?"

Skittery nodded dully.

"Might your, uh, sickness have anything to do with the young lady you're romancing? What was her name? Eliza?"

"Ellie," he answered, giving Kloppman Peg's real name. "And I'm not 'romancing' her, Klopps," Skittery assured.

Kloppman chuckled, studying the boy. "Then why are you always following her around?" he asked casually.

Skittery's jaw dropped, about to protest the ludicrous statement. "I don't follow her around," he said defiantly. He sighed. "She's just so dumb sometimes," he said, leaning his back against the desk and facing the window. He watched the snow fall for a moment before continuing. "Someone needs to make sure she doesn't go around the wrong parts of the city, or talk to shady people. Because she does that, you know. She doesn't know anything about being out on the streets."

Kloppman slowly nodded, which Skittery presumed was a sign of understanding.

"She's very lucky to have a friend like you, then," Kloppman commented.

"Yeah, you should tell her that," he mumbled.

"Why do you say that?" he asked. He put his mug aside and flipped open the ledger, which had been laying on the edge of the desk.

"It's nothing," Skittery responded tersely. He rubbed his hands together now, still trying to regain the feeling in his fingers.

"I see," Kloppman said slowly, turning over the ledger pages.

Skittery spied the book and rummaged through his pocket for a nickel. "Here's for tonight," he said, placing the lone silver coin on the desk.

Kloppman glanced at the nickel. "There's no charge for a bunk tonight, Skittery."

He frowned. "Why not?"

The older man smiled gently. "Because it's Christmas Eve, son. It's the spirit of giving."

Skittery scoffed. "More like the spirit of fakery," he muttered.

Kloppman breath stopped short upon hearing the young boy's words. Skittery caught the fleeting expression and thought he'd get it now: a smack on the head and a rattling of defensive words. Skittery prepared himself for the reaction and when none came, he looked questioningly at the Lodging House manager.

Kloppman put his pen down and looked at Skittery thoughtfully. "Is that what you think?"

"Yeah," he answered plainly, shrugging carelessly.

Kloppman shut his ledger and placed his pen carefully on top. He folded his hands gingerly, leaning slightly across the desk.

"You know what I was just thinking? I was thinking, you remind me a lot of myself when I was about your age," he said, his voice barely audible.

Skittery, still resting against the desk, looked over his shoulder at Kloppman. His brows drew together when he saw the look on Kloppman's face. It was a quiet look: his eyes were distant and his forehead bore a few more lines than usual - those of weariness. Skittery didn't say a word, feeling that the man would continue nevertheless.

The look changed suddenly. Kloppman now appeared as though he were struggling, trying to make a decision.

Finally, he asked, "Do you want to hear a story?"

Skittery was taken aback by the question. He saw the set look on Kloppman's face and actually chuckled softly then. "Do I have a choice?"

"No, not really," said Kloppman, walking from behind his desk towards the windows. He pulled up two chairs to the table - which still had Skittery's hat defrosting on top - and sat down slowly. "Have a seat," he said pleasantly, gesturing towards the opposite chair.

Skittery followed suit, grabbing his mug and, with a second thought, picking up Kloppman's mug from the counter as well. He set both on the table.

Kloppman removed his own bowler hat and placed it next to Skittery's cap. He ran his fingers through his cropped white hair, trying to search for the words, trying to decide from where to start. And after several instants, Kloppman began.

"I've never uttered a word of this to anyone, Skittery. Not even to my closest friends growing up. They would have thought me crazy, you understand. And, well, it's a little strange to be talking about this now, because it happened so long ago – when I was about your age, like I said – and on a day almost like this," he said, his eyes shifting to the window.

Skittery followed his line of sight. Just before his eyes adjusted to the darkness outside, he caught the reflection of Kloppman and himself sitting across from one another, both wearing the same melancholy gaze.

"It was just a couple of days before Christmas Eve," Kloppman continued, "and the snow fell like it had never fallen before, with a vengeance. It was one of the worst blizzards the city had ever seen. And back then, there was nothing like this Christmas banquet that the Children's Aid Society is organizing. There was no one to look after us, no guaranteed shelter. So I was just like a lot of you kids: disillusioned. Hardened. I was a kid but didn't have the heart of a kid. And then it happened, in that crazy blizzard of all times and places, I met her…"

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_Author's Note: I'm trying to get this done before Christmas rolls around in two days! Thank you stress and Laelyn24 for your awfully kind reviews! They really made my day. :)_


	3. Reaching

_Disclaimer: Newsies and all characters from the movie are properties of Disney._

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_Reaching_

She was obviously out of her damn mind.

James Kloppman fought against the gusting winds and the violent flurries of snow. The forces of nature, it seemed, were determined to keep him from his destination. But James didn't give up easily. With a set face, he continued to push through, head first, even though his body was screaming for instant warmth, even though his exposed, chapped hands began to crack and bleed. He had seen many rough winters in his years on the streets. Perhaps this was the roughest one, he thought vaguely, but he still wasn't going to let one lousy blizzard be the victor today. James was desperate for shelter and he had only one place in mind. When he set out for his objective that morning, the possibility that the place could be closed hadn't crossed his mind.

_Too late now_, he thought.

He shifted his eyes, concentrating on his surroundings. There was barely anyone else on the streets. The couple of people that passed by were all scurrying to safety. It was as though he was among the few brave enough to venture out into a storm like this. The thought gave him strength. He'd prove he was stronger than this snowstorm.

James was headed towards Tony's joint on Broadway and 18th. By the look of things, it seemed like he still had a couple of more blocks to go. He couldn't tell for sure – the snow blurred his perception and the buildings all seemed to fade away against the storm. James felt his hat lifting from his head as a howling wind hit him full force; he quickly reached up and pulled the cap down low over his face.

He was able to make out some elements of the streets, though. Despite all the snow, there was no mistaking the Christmas decorations that hung on doors – he wondered how they hadn't flown off yet – and the bright colors that glowed from shop windows. Every year the ornaments seemed to grow bigger, brighter. And they were everywhere this year, everywhere he turned.

16th Street. Only two more blocks. He was close. It was a good thing, too, because he wasn't sure how much longer he could take of the prickling snow.

He heard her before he saw her. The soft, somber tones floated along with the currents. James' brows drew together in puzzlement. Where the hell was that coming from?

He squinted ahead. At first, he could make nothing out from the white world that enveloped New York City. But as he kept walking, he caught a billowing of fabric and a rather large, white umbrella. He would not have even noticed the umbrella as its silhouette melded with the snow, if it weren't for the smidge of black behind it to set it off. The umbrella seemed to be floating in mid-air on the opposite side of Broadway, but he knew better than to trust his eyes in these weather conditions.

As he drew closer, the sounds started again. They started slowly with long drawn out notes, quivering slightly, then after a short pause the pace picked up. This time the notes were short, staccato. Playful. And completely inappropriate for the current situation.

James was near the umbrella now, slowly approaching the point directly across it on his side of the street. His surprise upon seeing what was behind the umbrella stopped his struggling feet.

It was a girl. The billowing fabric was that of her white skirt and the smidge of black was actually her coat, which was at least three sizes too big for her. Her chestnut brown hair was loose about her shoulders, visibly wet and even a bit frozen. Her face was glowing pink from the cold. James wondered how long she had been standing on that street corner.

At her feet was a brown case. An instrument case, he recognized. Immediately his eyes drew back to her face. Next to her head, cradled between her chin and shoulder, was a violin.

_So that's where the sounds were coming from_, James thought.

Her eyes were closed and slowly, elegantly, she brought the bow to the instrument. The trembling notes began again. Her arm moved back slowly, the note lingering. The umbrella, James realized, was not to shield herself from the storm, but to protect her violin from gathering snow. It was hanging precariously against the wall of a closed shop – he couldn't explain how it was even standing at that angle – with a makeshift fastening of ropes from one doorknob to a nearby pole. She was resourceful, he'll give her , she was obviously out of her damn mind.

She must have felt his eyes on her. Her own fluttered open and stared back at him. If she thought the moment awkward, which James did, she certainly didn't show it. The girl beamed and waved at him. James acknowledged the gesture with a simple nod.

When a particularly fierce gust blew the umbrella down, the notes stopped abruptly and the girl was at the protective cover, trying to fix it in place. It was futile, in James' mind. How was she going to keep that umbrella up in a storm like this?

He pulled his coat closer to him and continued to 18th. Just one more block.

_Girls_, James thought warily before looking past his shoulder at the lone violinist, who was still fidgeting with the umbrella.

But she was soon forgotten when James spotted Tony's in the distance. The thought of a warm room and a hot drink was the push he needed for this last leg of his journey. He felt a sudden surge of energy and his legs gradually quickened. The numbing pain in his hands was gone.

_Coffee_, he thought. _I need coffee. Hot, steaming coffee…_

He pushed through the door with the last ounce of his strength – only vaguely relieved that the place was open to customers – and entered the dimly lit establishment. Tony's was a combination between a restaurant and a tavern. It was a relatively new place, but the rambunctious yet kind owner quickly earned a reputation for the restaurant as well as a loyal customer base. James was one of them. It was quiet, save for Tony, and provided James the sort of solitude he needed from the world when it became too much for him to live up to. He always had to earn, earn, and earn, but he was always just scraping at the bottom; it was never enough to make a decent living, no matter how hard or long he worked to sell the papers.

James made his way to the bar, plopping himself onto the stool. He realized now that he was shivering.

"Now, James, don't be goin' and makin' a mess on my counter here."

James attempted what he hoped was a smile; the cold had drastically dried out his skin.

"Tony," he called the tavern owner. "I really need something warm."

Tony's characteristic laugh boomed. His laugh was so full and hearty that James thought he felt his insides vibrating along with it.

"You look like you just been through hell."

"Hell's supposed to be hot, ain't it?" James asked dryly.

"Gettin' smart with me, as usual," Tony said with a huge grin, shaking his head. "What'll you be wantin', kid? Somethin' warm or somethin' that'll warm you up?"

James knew Tony well enough to not have to ask for the difference between the two. To Tony, something warm was hot water and something that would warm a person up was a lot of alcohol.

James shook his head. "I need coffee."

Tony almost looked disappointed. He was a rotund figure, with slicked back peppered hair and a jolly trademark smile that made him approachable and instantly likeable. He scuffled to the edge of the bar to pick up a mug and prepare the hot beverage.

The tavern was practically empty. Only several strangers had braved the weather to be there. Or, maybe like James, they had no choice, as this was the only place they had for a warm refuge. James let out a heavy sigh and removed his cap revealing a dark mass of hair. He shook off the excess snow and placed the hat on the counter. James wiped at his face with his coat sleeve, which was useless since his coat was wet, too. He gave up on trying to clean himself up. Resting his elbows on the table, he rubbed his palms together to generate warmth, and waited expectantly for his coffee. The only sounds that filled the modest place were the _clanking_s and _tinkling_s of Tony moving about the bar.

Then a creaking and a sudden _whoosh_ filled the room. James recognized both sounds: the first was the opening of the slightly uneven door, and the second was the sound with which he had gotten so familiar in the past hour or so – that of the winter winds. He automatically assumed that the newcomer was another lost stranger and did not bother turning around.

There was a few seconds pause before James heard the subsequent clicking of heels upon the wooden floor. Within several moments, he saw from the corner of his eye a flourish of black and white. The newcomer had taken the seat next to him.

_Out of all the empty seats in the house…_ James was slightly irritated. He was in no mood to share space right now, not in his soaked and frozen state and especially not before he's had his coffee. James shifted over slightly to put some distance between himself and the newcomer. The person was certainly bundled, James thought. He heard the heavy rustling of fabric as the person adjusted himself on the stool.

Tony finally started towards him, carrying a cup with a misty haze floating atop it. James could practically feel the warmth upon spying that steaming cup.

Then Tony froze abruptly. His eyes were wide and his mouth dropped open to form an '_o_.' James was impatient for his coffee, but he was also fascinated by the look on Tony's face. He had never seen anyone or anything that could quite surprise Tony. But true to his nature, Tony recovered quickly. James wondered what in heaven had caused the tavern owner such shock and turned his head imperceptibly to find out.

He couldn't believe it.

"That's a mighty large umbrella you got there, Miss," said Tony, setting the mug in front of James, though never taking his eyes off the newcomer.

"Do you like it?" she asked with a cheerful smile. "I can get you one just like it if you want," she offered.

"No, no, I'm fine, Miss," Tony chuckled. "You know what it reminds me of, though? Your umbrella is just like the ones that the young ladies had when I was a boy. I was a cheeky little rascal, lemme tell ya – but seemed the ladies I was courtin' weren't too pleased about that and they'd always beat me off with their little umbrellas. Well, they called them parasols, if you wanna get technical 'bout it. Yours is much more impressive, though."

She giggled appreciatively. "Thank you, sir. You never know, if I ever come across a cheeky boy…" she said, lifting the umbrella slightly, "this might come in handy."

Tony laughed that booming laugh of his. "I reckon it will. Now, what can I get for ya?"

She tilted her head to the side, considering her options. "I think a cup of hot chocolate would be lovely."

"Hot chocolate, eh? She's a fancy dame, ain't she?" he asked, directing his last question to James. He looked to the girl again. "I'll see what I can scrape up for ya." With that, he scuffled away once again.

_It was the crazy violinist._ James finally registered the thought. Had she followed him here or was she a usual guest? _No_, James remembered. Obviously she wasn't. Tony had never seen her before, that was for sure. And frankly, she wasn't the type one could forget. The girl stuck out like a sore thumb in a place like Tony's. She exuded a lightness that was usually absent from the tavern.

The girl turned to him then. For the second time, James was caught staring. This time, however, he couldn't stop staring at her.

She had the most breathtaking eyes. They were the purest of blues, the blue of a cloudless spring afternoon sky after a night's rain. It was only when she spoke when James finally snapped his head back, staring into his coffee instead.

"Hello," she said.

He only moved his eyes to look in her direction this time, fleetingly.

"Hi," he responded monotonously.

"Did you enjoy it?" she asked.

He hesitated, not exactly sure what she was asking. "Enjoy what?"

"My playing. Did you enjoy the music?"

He shrugged. "It was fine."

The dull answer seemed to satisfy her immensely, strangely enough. She stuck out her hand. "My name is Natalie."

James looked at her, then at her hand. Feebly, he took her hand and shook it, shocked by the ice cold of her fingers. His own hands had warmed considerably, as he had wrapped them around his coffee. _She must have been standing outside for a long time_, he thought ruefully.

"James," he returned.

"James," she repeated as though the name appealed to her.

He was taking a sip of his coffee when Tony returned with another mug.

"Here's your hot chocolate, Miss. Tell me how you like it," he said, carefully placing the cup in front of her. "Careful, it's hot."

James had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Tony was evidently enchanted by her.

She brought the mug to her lips cautiously and took a small sip. A wide grin followed by an enthusiastic nod conveyed her approval.

"It's delicious!"

Tony let out a joyful chortle. "I'm glad you like it."

A voice called out from the side of the restaurant. Upon hearing his name, Tony excused himself and went over to see to a customer, effectively leaving James alone with the crazy girl.

"Have you tried this?" Natalie asked him, holding her cup of hot chocolate.

James shook his head. "No." He hadn't even known that Tony carried hot chocolate in his pantries.

"It's really very good," she said. "Here, try it." She offered him her cup. "I think you'll like it better than the coffee you're having. Although I'm sure that's delicious as well, if this hot chocolate is any indication of Tony's talent."

James gazed at her skeptically, but she appeared completely earnest.

"Honestly, it's _that_ good. You'll like it, I promise. And I won't leave you alone until you try it."

The last statement got him moving. He let go of his own mug and accepted hers. The steam hit his nose and he caught the sweet, milky scent of the chocolate. He took a small taste, but it was enough. The liquid spread over his taste buds and woke his senses. James wasn't used to the sweet sensation the chocolate stirred – all his usual meals ever consisted of was of bland coffee and stale bread.

"It's good," he admitted, handing the hot chocolate back to Natalie. He had been tempted to steal another taste, but resisted.

"I knew you'd like it," she said, happy that he had agreed. She smiled, peering at him over the brim of her cup as she took a drink, meeting his eyes momentarily.

There was something unnerving about her eyes, those perfect blues. They gave away too much of her, like she had absolutely nothing to hide. But at the same time, in particular when their eyes had met for a brief instant, they appeared to know too much about _him_. James wondered how that was possible. They had only met just now. He had only seen her several minutes before, playing her stupid violin in the stupid storm. He wanted to ask her what the hell she was thinking, playing outside like she'd been doing. So he did.

"What the hell were you doing playing out there in that storm anyway?"

Natalie pressed her lips together into a childlike expression. "I just wanted to bring people some Holiday cheer."

"There was no one on the streets to hear you," he said flatly.

"Ah," she began meaningfully, "but _you_ heard me."

There was no point arguing there. He _had_ heard her.

"So, James. Do you have any plans for Christmas? Will you be having dinner with your family?"

He let out a derisive laugh. "Don't got no family," he said.

"Oh," she said quietly, casting her eyes downward. "I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry. You didn't do anything."

"Well, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, I guess."

A silence fell between them. James drank his coffee and noted that it was nearly gone. The silence didn't last long.

"What happened to them?" she inquired softly.

"I don't… that's not something I like to talk about."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," James said dismissively.

"Do you spend your Christmases with friends, then?"

"No – yeah. We don't…" He paused to gather his thoughts, trying to explain this in terms she could understand. "Listen, Christmas is just another day for a lot of us. We don't do nothing special because we can't afford to do nothing special."

"Oh. I'm sor--,"

"You're sorry. I got it."

She nodded slowly. Then she asked, "Who do you mean by 'us'?"

"Us. Us paper boys. Newsboys, newsies. And a whole lot of other street kids."

"Street kids?"

_Was this girl new to New York City?_ "Yeah, street kids. Kids who have to sleep on the streets because we don't got a home or family to go to at night."

She didn't respond this time. Instead, her lips tightened and her dark lashes fluttered rapidly. _Good god, she looks like she's about to cry_. James turned back in his seat and gulped down the last of his now lukewarm coffee. He reached into his pocket in search of a penny to pay Tony. Once his fingers wrapped around one, he pulled it out and slapped in onto the counter. He then grabbed his cap and pulled it back on.

She was getting too personal for him. James didn't particularly enjoy talking about his past and he didn't like discussing his present situation either. If she wasn't going to leave anytime soon, if she was going to keep asking him questions, then, well…

"It must be so difficult for you," she whispered.

"I get by," James said nonchalantly. He tried to prepare himself mentally for the cold outdoors again. "It was nice talking to you, Natalie," he said stiffly, rising from his seat.

She got the hint, finally. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah, finished my coffee."

"Where will you go? Are you sure you want to leave now? It's a little chilly out."

"'_A little chilly out,_' she says," James muttered incredulously.

Understatement of the century.

-----

_Author's Note: I'm racing through this story so I apologize if there are any errors! As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, so thank you ktkakes! Two more chapters to go and only one day to write them…_

_Hope everyone who is celebrating has a lovely Christmas Eve!_


	4. Enlightening

_Disclaimer: Newsies and all characters from the movie are properties of Disney._

_-----_

_Enlightening_

"You wanna stop following me?"

James glanced backwards as he spoke and sighed.

"You should be honored I'm following you." Natalie ignored his snort of disbelief. "I could be talking to a lot of other people besides you right now."

"So why don't you go and talk to them, then?"

"Because," she lifted her shoulders indifferently, "you interest me."

"I'm flattered," he said sarcastically. "But you're getting on my nerves, so do me a favor and leave me alone."

Her blue eyes narrowed on him contemplatively. Instead of following his suggestion, she continued to trail him. Natalie was undeterred.

James heard the snow crunching behind him and sighed again in exasperation. He was back in the cold again – _they_ were back in the cold again. The blizzard had weakened just a little, though it was still a formidable force. The snow hit them both from the front and they had to press on to contest the occasional, but fierce, wind. He had made the rash decision to leave Tony's in order to rid himself of the crazy girl, with every intention of going back once he was sure that she had left. Now he was stuck with the storm _and_ the girl. And she just would not quit talking.

"I don't see why we had to leave the restaurant," she said. "It was perfectly warm inside."

James groaned. He didn't need her to remind him of the fact.

"I like Tony," she continued. "He's very kind."

"He's a good guy."

Several minutes passed in quiet, which surprised James, considering that the girl had been chattering continuously since they left Tony's restaurant. He looked over to see if she was still behind him – he didn't know why he did, since he was certain she was. He guessed that there was a part of him that, even though she was grating on his nerves with all of her questions, was curious about her. After all, who wouldn't be a little interested in a violinist that played during winter storms? He caught Natalie jumping over the snow, following in his footsteps, literally. She hopped onto her right foot where his right foot had just left an indent in the snow, her arms swinging at her sides. She carried her violin case in one hand, her white umbrella in the other. The girl had to be around his age, but right now she looked like a little kid without a care in the world.

If only he were so lucky.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You've been asking me questions non-stop since we met," James said.

She laughed a little guiltily. "I guess I have, haven't I? Oh, asked you another question right there!" she said, laughing again. "I was just wondering, where are we going?"

"_We're_ not going anywhere," James answered. "You're going back to… wherever you came from, and I'm going …" He tried to think of the right word – "home" wasn't exactly something he had – but couldn't. "I'm going to find someplace to stay."

"Are you lost?" She didn't sound too concerned by the prospect.

"I'm not lost," James said indignantly. "I know this city like the back of my hand."

They walked for a while in that storm, though it seemed that James was struggling through it more than she was. He was distinctly aware that there was no one on the streets. He thought he was brave for enduring the storm before, but now, now with this girl, he knew he was just being stupid. He had left a good shelter because of her. And where was he going? He had nowhere _to_ go. All he was doing now was wandering aimlessly, hoping he could come up with something to get rid of the girl.

He shook his head. She was talking even now. He briefly considered just going back to Tony's, but he didn't want to the girl to be following him around until dark. She had to have a home to go back to, right? Then a practical idea came to him. If James could find a way to drop the girl off at her home, it would be a discrete way to get her off his case and to make sure she'd get home safely. He couldn't understand why that last part even mattered to him, but it did and he didn't linger over the thought for too long. If only he could find out where she lived…

He was about to turn to ask her when something hard hit him squarely in the back. James whipped around.

Natalie stood there with a wide grin, her umbrella and violin case on the ground beside her. The look on her face concerned him, but what concerned him most was what she held between her hands: a perfectly spherical ball of snow. She tossed it around in her hand coolly, but there was no mistaking the mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Now, wait. That's not fair," he said slowly. But even as he spoke he was reaching down to gather the settled snow into his palm.

The snowball came flying his way. James managed to block it from hitting his face with his arm. The girl had aim, he gave her that. He quickly molded and compacted the snow using his hands and as soon as the shape satisfied him, he flung it in her direction. Just as he did, another snowball hit him. _Damn, she's quick!_ James thought, moving fast now. He crouched down and formed two snowballs to throw in quick succession. When he lifted his head to see her progress, she was gone.

His brows furrowed. _Where'd she go?_ He heard footsteps from behind him and quickly twisted around, but not in time to dodge Natalie's attack. She had an armful of snow and was quickly advancing towards him. James swiftly moved to where Natalie's umbrella laid, picked it up and opened it, using it as a shield. It worked - he heard at least two snowballs hit the top of the umbrella. He peeked over his shield and saw that she had doubled over laughing. It was a sound that resounded with pure joy, and was oddly contagious. He found himself chuckling, too, falling back to the ground and feebly tossing the snow in her direction as he did.

Natalie sighed, wiping the tears that had formed at her eyes from laughing so much. James lifted himself up, dusting the snow from his trousers. He closed the umbrella and took her violin case by the handle, handing both to her.

"You do know how to smile," she said in wonder, accepting her belongings gratefully. She herself beamed. "It's nice. You should do it more often."

"Yeah, well, I'd need a reason to do it, wouldn't I?"

"There are lots of reasons to smile," she replied.

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

If he could see the sun through the clouds and the storm, he would have seen that it was setting. The sky was darkening rapidly. The pair began walking again, even though neither had decided upon a destination still. Only James seemed to be aware that they had no specific goal. Natalie, on the other hand, seemed happily unaware of their pointless journey. Glancing in her direction, James shook his head: he just could not figure her out. Who was she? Where was she from? And why was she so set on following him? She was a set of a contradictions. Her mannerisms suggested an elegance typical of wealthy families, but her clothes were ill-fitted and not exactly new. She was small and petite, but she was braving the storm better than he was. Her violin was tuned to perfection, but the case was tattered around the edges. She was innocent and hopeful, which made absolutely no sense to James.

She was quiet for several moments, too, as she thought about his question. It was apparent that she came up with an answer when she perked up and turned to face him.

"Like this snow. This snow is a reason to smile."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not kidding. Snow falls like this only a couple of times a year, if we're fortunate. I think it's a reason to smile when the snow settles perfectly like it's doing today. It feels like another world when everything's covered in this frosty white."

He considered her response for a long while before replying. "So, you're saying we're in the middle of a blizzard, this freezing storm, but we should be smiling. Is that it?"

"Yes."

"I think you're mad."

"You'll learn to appreciate it, James," she said confidently.

She looked over to him at that moment and saw that he was vehemently blowing into his hands. The brief snow fight had left his hands so numb he could barely move his fingers. She tugged on his coatsleeve to get his attention and, dropping her things, took his hands into her own. He didn't protest. James felt the warmth radiating from her hands and frowned. _How the hell were her hands so warm when his were deathly cold? _he wondered. A bitter wind passed through, effectively sending James' body into a compulsive shiver. Natalie seemed rather unaffected.

"The wind is freezing. You're not cold?" he asked softly.

"I don't think it's that cold," pushing back her brown hair with her fingers. She resumed holding his hands.

"Lucky you."

The pair remained rooted to their spot for quite some time, as Natalie continued to share the warmth of her hands. James wondered at that moment, as her hands covered his and as he gazed down at the top of her chestnut hair, he wondered if she was an – _No_, he thought, dismissing the notion as soon as it entered his mind. It was probably all the Christmas nonsense that was playing with his thoughts. James lost track of how long they stood there; he realized that that's been happening a lot since he met Natalie.

"Want me to tell you the trick?" she offered.

"The trick to what?"

"The trick to not feeling cold."

He had to admit, he was intrigued. _What was she going to come up with now?_ James thought wryly.

She leaned in close, putting one hand close to her mouth as though she were about to tell him some great secret. "The trick to not feeling cold is…" she paused for dramatic effect, "to pretend you're flying."

"You're officially out of your mind."

"I'm serious!"

"How the hell would that make me not feel cold?"

"I can't explain it. You'll have to try it for yourself." With that, she let go of his hands. "It works best on windy days like today. You have to spread your arms out like this." She demonstrated, stretching out her arms from her sides. "And stand on your tiptoes. When the wind blows, you'll feel like you're flying and you'll forget all about being cold."

He stared at her skeptically. She looked at him expectantly.

"Come on, then, try it!"

"I'm not going to do that."

"Why not?"

"It's stupid."

She grasped his hand and held it up. "Try it just once," she urged.

She was damn persistent. He exhaled resignedly. "Fine." James held out his other arm and tiptoed to his fullest height.

The two stood in that position for several moments.

"I feel like an idiot," James muttered.

"Wait for it," Natalie said, her eyes closed. "It's coming."

As though she had commanded its presence, a robust wind came howling from ahead. James felt Natalie readying herself as her hand tightened around his. The gust struck them directly, reaching around their stomachs first, then rising. James' eyes widened in shock. He could have sworn that, for a split second, he was lifted from his toes. The weaker tail of the wind passed through them and the pair returned to their feet. The moment of weightlessness threw him off a bit. And he realized that Natalie had been right: his preoccupation with the flying sensation had made him forget about the chilling air.

Natalie released his hand and smiled knowingly before picking up her possessions.

"Lead the way," she said.

Her words abruptly made James remember that he had no place to stay that night. He now felt guilty for pointlessly dragging Natalie around the city with him, despite the fact that she was the one who decided to tag along. He led the way, as she requested, but he really needed to drop her off, for her own sake. It was close to evening now and he, somehow, assumed Natalie had a family waiting for her. As soon as he had organized his thoughts and determined a plan, however, Natalie interrupted him once again.

"I love the Christmas decorations this year, don't you?"

_She was talking about Christmas again._ James scoffed. "Yeah, sure do."

"You don't care for them?"

He shrugged carelessly. "I don't care for Christmas."

"Oh, I see."

"Listen, I can drop you off --"

"I think Christmas is my favorite time of the year. People are always so full of cheer and the city becomes so colorful."

"And that's a good thing?"

Natalie frowned. "Isn't it?"

James shook his head. She certainly was hopeful. "You're blinded like everyone else," he muttered under his breath.

She studied him. "Why are you so sour about Christmas?" Natalie asked.

"I ain't sour."

"Yes, you are. Everyone is happy about the holidays. Everyone but you."

"All right," he said, turning around to face her. "You want to know why I'm sour? It's all of this. It's all a lot of fakery – everything," James said, gesturing with his arm around him. "None of this is real. People make this big deal about Christmas, you know? But I don't believe any of it for a minute. Everyone's smiling, laughing, pretending to care… and – and, all this singing and music about love – it's all fake. Phony. You know what? As soon as it's done, they go back to reality. No one cares about no one. And street rats like me – we don't get so much as one glance."

Natalie took several moments to take it in. And then, quietly, she said, "I don't believe that."

James shrugged. "Believe what you want." He whipped around and began walking ahead of her.

But Natalie wouldn't give up. "I don't believe that, James," she called out, as she picked up her skirts and began after him.

He didn't look back – he knew that she would keep talking no matter – and as though proving his point, she did.

"I believe that - that Christmas is special," she said, trying to keep up with his long strides. "You may think that people are being phony, but I think that it's the one time of the year that they're being genuine and honest and true. We lose ourselves… we lose ourselves during the year, that's what I think. I don't know why that is, but it's just how life is. We get stressed, we have to deal with this and that, and starving, and being out on the streets, and not having enough money for ourselves, for our families." Her words came out in a flurry now. "We lose loved ones. We lose our jobs. We – there's so much that's not right in the world and we react to it. Of course we do. And all of that catches up with us." She caught up with him now. Natalie pulled his arm and turned him towards her. "We go through months of struggling, and we think we're the only ones that are struggling, but we're not. And Christmas brings that – that truth out in us. I don't know why it does, but it does. This is the time of year, right at the end, that we realize we're not alone. And… and it gives us the courage – that's what it is, James! – it gives us the courage to open up to each other. It gives us the courage to be ourselves, and to be kind, and to admit we're wrong, and to say 'I love you.' To not think of just ourselves and all the bad things that happened, and be brave enough to sacrifice for others around us. And you may think that all of this is just dishonesty, and that people are insincere in their hearts, but I think this is the one time when people are the most true." Her voice softened. "That's what I believe."

Her outburst took James by surprise. He was silent. There was such naked emotion in her eyes and, when she tilted her head down, embarrassed by her own tirade, he resisted the urge to tip her chin up towards him to look through those depths again.

James couldn't explain why he felt the need to explain himself – why he disliked the holidays and turned his nose at all the Christmas festivities; maybe it was her eyes, those knowing eyes, but whatever it was, he needed her to understand. "I know what people think about Christmas – all that stuff about family and being together. No one was ever there for me, though. It's always been that way and that's never going to change," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He had never shared such a personal sentiment with anyone before.

Natalie shrugged. "I'm here for you." It wasn't a promise, but a simple statement. The words had come out from her lips without a moment's hesitation, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world to her and to tell him was the easiest thing to say. There was nothing pretentious in her tone, just truth.

"James, there will always be someone there for you. You're a good person. From the moment I saw you, when I saw you listening to the music, I knew. There's a part of you that still hopes. I know you say you don't believe in Christmas, but there's a part of you deep inside that does, whether you're aware of it or not." She reached her hand to his eyes. "You just have to open your eyes and your heart. That little part of you that still believes – that hope - is what led you here."

James looked around then, snapping out from listening to Natalie's soothing voice, and was completely caught off-guard by his surroundings. His feet had uncharacteristically led them to a neighborhood with which he wasn't quite familiar. He hadn't been paying much attention to directions, but still, it wasn't like him to wander into untried streets.

It was quiet. They stood in front of a fence that guarded a modest brownstone. A wreath hung on the door. The curtains on the windows were pulled back, revealing the bright Christmas decorations from within.

Natalie turned to the fence and gave the gate a slight push; it squeaked open slowly. "This is the home of Charles Loring Brace. You'll find that he will be more than happy to help you and to let you stay for a night or two. He's very kind. Like Tony, except… well, they're different," she said, chuckling.

James just stood there, still, in all his confusion. How had she known where they were if even James had no clue? He'd been the one leading the pair, she'd been walking behind or beside him all this time, but now it seemed like she had been the one doing the leading. Natalie had been asking all the questions before, but now James was the one burning to ask her a million questions. It was as though they had switched roles and James hadn't even realized it.

"I don't understand," he began to say. "How--?"

"You will understand," she assured him. She rested her hand on his shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze.

The simple gesture flooded his senses, calming and soothing him. He felt the tension lift from his body, the knots untangling in his shoulders. It was the strangest yet most pleasant feeling, as though her hopefulness and purity radiated into him from her fingertips. James met her blue eyes, which seemed crystal clear even in the darkness, and was spellbound.

"It's getting late," she began. "You're going to get sick if you stay out here any longer." She nodded towards the house with an encouraging grin. "Go on."

"What – wait, I --"

Natalie hushed him and pushed him gently onto the path towards the brownstone doors. But James was still hesitant.

"Charles Loring Brace…" he repeated. "What do I say to him?"

She gave him a peaceful smile. "Tell him the truth. He'll understand."

James fiddled with his cap for several instants. "I was going to take you home, Natalie."

"Don't worry about me. I know this city like the back of my hand," she said, playfully tossing his words back at him.

James gave a weak smile. He'd met Natalie only several hours before but there was something about her that made him trust her, completely. It was the most puzzling day he'd ever had. James had started wholly irritated by having to put up with a talkative girl, but by evening, she had softened his heart with her straightforward charm.

"Will I see you around?"

Natalie grinned. She signaled toward her violin case by lifting it slightly. "I meant it when I said I'm here for you. You'll be hearing from me again, James. I promise."

With a final beaming smile, Natalie turned away, jogging slowly.

James walked up the paved path and up the steps to the door. He had no logical explanation for his actions. The only explanation was that, somehow, he trusted Natalie. He took several breaths before knocking three times. James looked to the west where Natalie's form was fading.

She suddenly turned around and waved cheerfully back at him, giving him additional strength.

"Merry Christmas, James Kloppman!" she called out brightly before heading off again.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Merry Christmas," he replied softly.

It wasn't until later that he realized he had never revealed to Natalie his full name.

-----

Charles Brace was indeed a kind man, as Natalie had said. And he had welcomed James with open arms, without a moment's hesitation, as Natalie had said. He invited James to a warm and delicious meal with the rest of the family and offered him the spare room on their second floor. James couldn't even begin to thank them and to express his gratitude, but the Brace family had assured him it was no problem and that they thoroughly enjoyed his company. After all, they said, that's what Christmas is about.

That night, as James was teetering between consciousness and sleep, he was awakened by soft, drifting melodies from outside. He could have sworn it was Natalie's violin. But when he scurried to the window, pulled away the curtain and looked out, all he saw was an empty street.

-----

_Author's Note: Charles Loring Brace was the man who founded the Children's Aid Society in 1853 and ran several lodging houses in New York. This information was retrieved from LD's No. 9 on Duane Street, which I highly recommend. Thank you Laelyn for your generous reviews! I was very nervous about this story, but I'm so glad to hear that you're enjoying it thus far!_


	5. Connecting

_Disclaimer: Newsies and all characters from the movie are properties of Disney._

_-----_

_Connecting_

"So what happened to her?"

Kloppman drew several breaths before answering. His voice was heavy when he spoke. "I never saw her again."

Skittery was perplexed. "That's - that's it? She just up and disappeared?"

Kloppman nodded shakily. "I never saw her after we parted ways that evening. When I think about it now, about our time together, however brief it was, it was magical. We were on our own, together, wrapped in that fierce blizzard. It was like she said about the snow – we really were in a different world," Kloppman said, chuckling.

"Klopps… I never knew…"

"No one knew, son, not until now. I never told anyone about Natalie."

Skittery nodded slowly. A silence fell between them.

Kloppman looked out the window again. The snow wasn't falling as fiercely as it had been falling before.

"I never saw her again, Skittery. But she's someone I'll never forget. I hear her sometimes, you know?" He shook his head sorrowfully. "At a couple of points during that day, I swore she was an angel. I still wonder about that even today. Sounds crazy, don't it? But every year, just around Christmas, I hear that beautiful violin and I'm reminded of what I learned from her. And I hope you've learned something tonight, too."

Skittery slowly nodded. "Yeah," he said, giving Kloppman a look of appreciation.

Kloppman could tell, though, that there was still something bothering the newsboy.

"Sometimes," the older man offered, "we just need to know that there's a person out there looking out for us. Thinking about us. Because if no one looks out for us, if no one cares about us, what's the point? We have it in us to love, but we also need to feel we're worth someone else's love. To connect with a person is our connection to this world, as human beings." He laughed softly. "Natalie was right, you know? She said that Christmas is that one special time when we feel, truly, that love and that connection." He looked at Skittery directly in the eyes. "Before Natalie, I didn't feel that. And right now, you're not feeling it either."

Kloppman's words made something inside Skittery click into place: his mind and heart finally came to an understanding. And here was Kloppman, someone who understood him, who had once felt the same emptiness and disappointment that Skittery felt now.

Kloppman's eyes narrowed – he spotted from the window a shadowed figure quickly approaching the Lodging House. When the figure neared and stepped into the light provided by the lamppost, a trace of a smile played upon his lips. The older man placed an encouraging hand over Skittery's fist.

"You're not feeling it right now, Skittery," he began, "but there will always be someone there for you. Maybe you just need to open your eyes and your heart."

Skittery recognized Natalie's words and was quiet, occupied with his own thoughts. Maybe he was just being childish. He realized now that he wasn't alone. He had friends – Race, Specs, Dutchy, all the others – who struggled and celebrated alongside him. And Peg, as exasperating as she was at times with all her naiveté, was someone that he had come to rely on. He had no idea how or when that happened. And he finally admitted to himself - as much as it bothered him to admit it - that it hurt when she distributed gifts to all their companions, and neglected to give him anything. Dammit all, he would have even settled for that stupid neckerchief.

Skittery exhaled a heavy sigh and looked up at the older man gratefully. He knew it must have taken a lot for Kloppman to reveal and share such a personal story with him. Kloppman's mysterious smile caught his attention then. He raised his brows questioningly, to which Kloppman tilted his head towards the window.

Right at that moment, there came a knocking against the window glass. Skittery, surprised by the thuds that sounded close to his head, turned his head abruptly towards the window.

Peg stood outside. She gave Skittery a small wave and, upon noticing Kloppman, gave the Lodging House manager a cheerful, albeit muffled through the window, "Merry Christmas, Mr. Kloppman!"

Kloppman inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Merry Christmas to you, too, Miss Ellie."

Skittery faced Kloppman. "I'll be right back," he said, grabbing his cap and pulling it over his hair.

"All right, then," said Kloppman, sitting up. "I'll have to check on the dinner in the dining hall. Got to make sure no one's burnt anything this year."

Skittery sent him a lazy grin before heading out the doors.

He became more somber once his feet touched upon the snow-covered ground. Peg was waiting ahead of him, her arms crossed across her chest. Her cheeks were rosy from exposure to the cold. A mix of concern and puzzlement was on her face.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked. "You ran off in a hurry. Everyone was worried."

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"Good," she sighed. "I'm glad."

"Yeah, I, uh…" His pride was going to take a beating now, but he made up his mind. Skittery was going to be forward. "I was a little surprised when you – when you said you forgot." His pride was writhing now.

But thankfully, he didn't need to explain any further. Peg immediately knew to what he was referring; her head bobbed up and down slowly in a manner that conveyed her understanding. She took a step towards him, her brown eyes gazing at him intently.

"Was that why you stormed off?" she asked.

Skittery gave a sheepish half-grin, looking at the ground and scratching the back of his head in slight discomfort. He thought he'd hear a reprimand any moment now. When his eyes flicked up to her face in an apologetic glance, he was surprised to see an amused smile lingering there. The corners of her lips twitched – she was trying to hold back laughter.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said nonchalantly. Then, as quickly as she had given her answer, she hit his arm with something sturdy.

"Ow, what was that for?" he exclaimed, even though he knew he may have deserved it.

"You're really difficult sometimes, you know that?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"How was I supposed to know you'd take me seriously?" She paused to look him in the eyes. "Did you really think I would forget to get you something for Christmas?" she asked delicately.

He was at a loss for words for a moment. "Then why did you say you did?"

"It was going to be a surprise," she said, thinking the answer was obvious. "You told me the boys had planned to leave for the banquet together after Tibby's. Well, I was going to make you drop by the girl's home with me so I could pick up your present and give it you when no one was around."

He thought about her explanation. "Why did you want to give me something when no one was around?" he asked.

She shrugged and looked heavenward, clearly exasperated with herself for thinking any sort of situation with Skittery would be easy. "Who knows? I don't know what I was thinking," she said resignedly. Then she put forward her hand, offering the object that she hit him with. "Merry Christmas, Skittery."

He looked down at her extended hand. She was holding a small rectangular manila package, held together by red ribbons. Skittery almost hit himself on the head for actually believing Peg had forgotten about him. She wasn't even a good liar and he had let his emotions cloud his senses. Skittery took the package tentatively. He placed a forefinger and thumb on the ribbons and looked at Peg for permission. She answered with an indifferent nod.

He picked at the bow and eventually succeeded in untying the ribbons. Skittery's fingers moved over to unfold the manila wrapping. He gazed at the gift in his hands.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"It's a book," Peg answered dryly.

"I know it's a book," he said, fully knowing that he had asked a stupid question. "_A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court_," Skittery read aloud.

She gave him an uncertain, faltering smile. "It's by Mark Twain. I didn't know what to get you at first. And then I remembered that silly stick you're always carrying around like it's some sword or scepter. And that you and Bumlets used to have those duels." She pointed at the book in Skittery's hands. "The main character gets sent back to medieval England, to King Arthur's court, where there are Knights, and swords, and… things like that," she said, shrugging a little, unsure of whether Skittery liked the present.

"You're perfect."

"Thanks," Peg said absently. Then, snapping her head back to him: "—what?"

"I said, it's perfect."

"Oh," she said, letting out an embarrassed laugh. "That's what I thought." She signaled towards the Lodging House. "You should go back inside. Isn't the banquet starting soon?"

"I think so," he replied.

"I should get going, too." Peg gave him another small wave goodbye and turned to leave.

She had only taken several steps when he called her name. When she spun around, he had advanced up to her and, before she knew what he was doing, he enveloped her into an embrace. With a stunned "oh!" she froze on the spot, blinking rapidly in surprised confusion. Only rarely did Skittery ever show his emotions to her so candidly, and she therefore assumed that something was wrong.

"Are you sure you're okay? Fever?" she asked, concerned.

"I'm fine," she heard him say. After several moments, he spoke again. "Thanks, Ellie."

Peg thought he was thanking her for the gift, but he was in fact grateful for what she had confirmed for him. Kloppman had said that everyone needed some sort of connection to this world and that Christmas was a magical time for people to reveal those connections in their purity. Peg was a lot like Skittery in that neither liked to reveal their emotions to others, but tonight, she didn't need to say a word. She had showed him that he was in her thoughts.

Skittery released her gradually, just before Kloppman poked his head out the door of the Newsboys Lodging House.

"You kids going to stay out in the cold all night?" he questioned.

Peg's face flushed and she, in effect, could not meet anyone's eyes directly. She shook her head in response to Kloppman's inquiry, and the manager kindly invited her into the lobby for a cup of hot chocolate before the newsboys' dinner.

At the mention of hot chocolate, however, Peg beamed. "I'd love that, thank you."

"It'll be ready in a minute, dear," he said, and his head disappeared from view.

The pair stood around a bit awkwardly before starting towards the Lodging House.

"Aren't you cold?" Skittery asked suddenly, noticing then that her hair was damp from the snow.

"Not really," Peg answered. "It's nice out," she said, referring to the thick blanket of snow that covered the city. "I kind of forgot about the cold."

"Well, here," he said, removing his cap and placing it atop her head. "Your hair's frozen for god's sake."

He let her into the warm Lodging House interiors first. As soon as he was about to enter the threshold, though, he stopped short. Skittery knitted his brows in bewilderment, then strained his ears. _Could it be?_ he wondered. He rotated, looking out onto the darkened city streets, searching. It was when he determined, after several instants, that he had just imagined the sounds when they came again.

Somewhere in the distance, Skittery thought he heard the quivering, melodic notes of a violin.

-----

_Author's Note: The end! I got a late start for this holiday fluff fic, and finished later than I hoped, but I'm glad I saw it through anyway. I want to thank anyone who has been following along and hope that you have enjoyed reading._

_Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas!_


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